


It Would Take a Real Miracle

by The_Bentley



Series: Cold Open Fictions [8]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: 6000 Years of Slow Burn (Good Omens), Anal Sex, Aziraphale and Crowley in Love (Good Omens), Aziraphale in Love (Good Omens), Aziraphale is Not Good At This Spy Thing, Character Development, Crowley in Love (Good Omens), Crowley to the Rescue (Good Omens), Developing Relationship, Episode: s01e03 Hard Times, Espionage, Falling In Love, First Time, Friendship, Friendship/Love, Hand Jobs, Historical, How Many Times Is Crowley Going to Have to Save Aziraphale's Arse, Humor, Love, M/M, Making Out, Nazis, Oral Sex, Sex, Slow Burn, Snogging, Taking on Half-Witted Nazi Spies, The Blitz, World War II
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-12
Updated: 2019-12-05
Packaged: 2020-12-09 16:34:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20997923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Bentley/pseuds/The_Bentley
Summary: London 1941. Everything about Aziraphale and Crowley’s friendship could change because of one gullible angel, some Nazi spies and a demon who happens to be in the right place at the right time to save the day and the books.  Crowley's actions show Aziraphale he's more than just a casual acquaintance.  In fact, Aziraphale realizes that the love of his life is the friend he’s tried to keep at arm’s length for almost six thousand years.The Explicit rating is for the last chapter where those two dorks finally Do It. (Well, it's not the last chapter anymore, but the 4th one).





	1. Double Agent Bookseller

**Author's Note:**

> I'm kind of sad to be approaching the end of this series. This and the '60s left then I'm going to have to find other adventures to take these two on. On with the story . . .
> 
> I added a bonus chapter because I was inspired by a comment. Enjoy! This is the only Cold Open fic to get to five chapters. 
> 
> _London, 1941_

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale thinks he's being recruited to help out with British Military Intelligence. Little does he know . . .

Aziraphale kept the bookshop open out of a “keep calm and carry on” type obligation than anything else. It was rare anyone wanted to come in to purchase a book when many were more worried about getting their hands on much-needed supplies such as food and clothing. He was about to just go flip the sign anyway since in about half an hour Crowley would wander in for drinks and a bit of conversation.

Instead, he found himself face to face with a young woman who was just as surprised he almost backed into her as he was.

“Excuse me, my dear,” he said with a bit of a bow. “Can I help you with anything?”

“Are you Mr. Fell? I’ve been looking for a bookseller to find me some books on prophecy. The other sellers I’ve been to tell me you’re the best.”

Aziraphale smiled in a rather flattered manner. “When it comes to prophecy, they might very well be right. I’ve made that my specialty.”

“I’m Captain Rose Montgomery of British Military Intelligence. Is there somewhere we can talk in private?”

Confused as to why British intelligence would bother with a bookseller, he gestured to his back room. “Right in here, Captain.”

He offered her a seat at the table, sitting himself down at his desk. “What can I do for you?”

“Intelligence has learned that the Nazi government is looking for books of prophecy, specifically the one deemed the only true prophecy book. We’re looking for a bookseller skilled and knowledgeable enough in such subjects to meet with them,” she replied. “Would you be interested in helping out King and Country?”

“Yes. Yes. Of course. Anything for the war effort. What will I have to do?”

“Just an initial meeting and then find the books they desire. I’ve been liaisoning with them, having infiltrated Nazi rings. I can introduce you.”

“Ok,” Aziraphale said. “As long as it’s not anything too dangerous. I run a bookshop. I’m not exactly super secret double agent spy material.”

She smiled at him as she pulled some dossiers out of her purse. “You’ll be fine. You just need to be a good enough actor to not let them on. Here. These contain all the information I have on them. Read up because in a few days I’d like to introduce you.”

A few days later, Aziraphale found himself in a flat on the east end with Rose and two men who called themselves Glozier and Harmony discussing the procurement of several books of prophecy. Aziraphale sat uncomfortably in on the couch next to Rose while to the two men sat opposite them looking him up and down like he wasn’t what they expected. But they got on with business after a minute of apparent hesitation.

“We’re looking particularly for Mother Shipton, Robert Nixon, Otwell Binns and the Fuhrer especially wants Agnes Nutter,” said Harmony, leaning over to hand him a more complete list.

“First editions only. We want the original text,” added Glozier.

Aziraphale scanned the paper he was handed, giving them a half-smile, “Well, it should be no trouble to get a hold of most of these. I have several first editions already in my bookshop, but as for Agnes Nutter…” Aziraphale paused. “I have yet to get my hands on one copy of her book, that’s how rare it is. When do you need these books by?”

The two Nazis whispered amongst themselves, deciding they needed a month but not more. Fortune in war changed quickly thus they wanted as many on the list as quickly as possible. Aziraphale shot a look to Rose, who nodded slightly and he agreed. He’d get back in touch with them in a month with what books he could.

“If you’re good at this, maybe we can give you extra time to procure others. We’ll discuss that when you produce what you’ve found,” said Glozier.

“You could be very well off by the end of the war,” Harmony said with a chuckle.

Aziraphale inwardly rolled his eyes. He would never want to profit off of Nazi beasts, the thought was absolutely distasteful. They were probably working under Crowley or one of his ilk, although given Crowley’s scathing commentary on Germany lately, maybe he had better things to do than hang around with Nazi spies.

“Thank you so much for your time, Mr. Fell,” Rose finally said. “We very much appreciate your help. Shall I show you out?”

Out on the pavement, she instructed him, “Get them the five best books you can and try to make sure that Nutter woman’s book is among them. That’s the real bait.”

“I can’t make any promises, but I’ll do my best.”

“I’m sure you will,” she smiled before heading back inside, leaving him to walk back to the bookshop.

Having nothing better to do, he pulled the Binns and Nixson books he had off his shelves. The first edition Mother Shipton he possessed was his personal signed copy he got directly from her therefore he would not risk that in a sting operation. He hoped to get his books back in one piece, but a signed one was too precious to mess with. 

It was a start. He’d get most of the others easily since he had connections when it came to books. 

A month later, he had five or six of the best. Informing Rose of his findings, she agreed to come by after hours to see what he had. Nervously, he closed the shop as it got dark, made himself some cocoa, waited. It wasn’t long before there was a knock on the door. 

“I have a few of the big name prophets here, all first editions,” he said as Rose excitedly looked over the books. 

“You’ve done great. We’ll meet them at the time and place we discussed.” 

Aziraphale agreed as he saw her out.

Pleased that she was able to find such a dupe, she stepped out the door, running directly into Crowley.


	2. You Can't Be Serious

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley figures out Aziraphale's naively involved in a double cross.

The dossiers lay out on the rooftop, open to the German spies’ pictures so he could concentrate on them. Committing them to his mind’s eye, he returned the folders to Headquarters with a snap of his fingers. He knew who they were, now he could perform a demonic miracle to locate and listen in on them. The eavesdropping equipment normal human domestic intelligence agents used sat ignored off to the side.

The two men, Harmony and Glozier, were in a flat in the east end of town discussing books of prophecy that madman running Germany wanted to get his hands on. Apparently the third spy, one Greta Kleinschmidt, had found a bookseller willing to buy her story that she was British intelligence looking for some help doubling-crossing Nazi spies in London.

What kind of idiot would fall for that?

Crowley sat back against the ledge of the roof, looking out at the stars in the evening sky then turned on the recording device with a lazy wave of his hand. It was probably best to record this for the agency.

Nobody knew quite how he got his information, but they always accepted it without question because it was never wrong. Higher-ups figured he was either just really good and would go places in the agency, or he was really cocky and would end up dead one day. Little did they know the demon was really good, really cocky and really unlikely to end up dead anytime soon.

They obviously never suspected they hired a demon with a fascination for the whole espionage thing. Humans could be such a devious species, therefore it was quite entertaining to insert himself into their little spy rings. Besides, he had developed a distaste for Nazis and their ways. Any chance to throw a spanner in those works was an opportunity he felt he should take.

He got away with it by convincing Hell that he was playing one country’s intelligence community against the other. Things were in such chaos in the first place, it would be impossible to actually unravel anything to learn the truth. Nobody’d check anyway since Head Office was busy slobbering over all the evil Germany was spreading.

He turned his attention to the conversation he was long-distance eavesdropping on. 

“…a little faith, my friend. He does seem to have a knack for getting a hold of even the rarest of first editions. Greta’s confirming he has the books tonight.”

Sighing in complete embarrassment, the demon shook his head. Of course. Who else would be that gullible? 

He recorded the conversation until they turned to idle chitchat, then he packed everything up popping to the street corner where the Bentley waited with a snap of his fingers. 

From there, he drove over to Aziraphale’s bookshop. The normally busy streets were dead, just like they were every night since the Blitz began. No air raid sirens were currently wailing so visible lights were on in the shop. The silhouette of a young woman stepped out the door and on to the pavement. 

Eyes narrowed in distrust, Crowley got out of the Bentley, positioning himself in a manner so he’d run right into her. 

“Excuse me, miss! I wasn’t paying attention. Didn’t see you there.” Crowley gallantly doffed his hat and pulled down his sunglasses enough to give her a wink. It was sufficiently dark, she wasn’t going to notice his strange eyes.

“No harm done, Mister…” she paused.

“Crowley,” he supplied, flashing his most charming smile. “Anthony Crowley. What is a lovely girl like you doing out on a night like this?”

“Oh, well, hello Mr. Crowley, I’m flattered to meet you. I’m looking for rare first editions for my father. I hear Mr. Fell is the best at finding them. What’s a man such as yourself doing out around here?”

Crowley didn’t have time for this; he snapped his fingers. Her face went blank and she stared straight ahead.

“What are you really up to, Greta?” 

“Trying to get the one true prophecy book for the Fuehrer. With it Germany will win the war.”

“How is Mr. Fell involved?”

“Fell thinks he’s helping British Intelligence, so he’s collecting books of prophecy for a fake double-cross. He’s to hand them over Friday night at ten o’clock at the church four blocks from here.”

“Thank you, you’ve been most helpful. You’ll wake up thinking you just left the bookshop and happen to be walking past a rather dashing young man on the pavement.”

He snapped his fingers again, giving another charming smile as she fluttered her eyelashes at him before hurrying on to her destination. 

Crowley sped his way to the safe house where he worked, walking into the head’s office without knocking. 

“Mr. Crowley, it would be nice if you showed some manners,” the annoyed head snapped.

Crowley slammed the tape recording on the desk. “Listen to this then let me handle this one? I’ve identified the bookseller. I used to live in the area and know the shop.”

The head of the safe house obliged. “I don’t believe Hitler is interested in prophecy. This is some elaborate ruse to pass information. They’ll be hiding messages in those books. Nobody’s going to bother with such nonsense so they can smuggle them across Europe no problem.”

Crowley nodded, not really caring why Germany would want any kind of book. His interests lay in keeping one idiot of a trusting angel from doing something completely stupid. He never wanted to slap someone upside the back of the head so badly. 

“You sure this bookseller isn’t in on it?”

“No, he wouldn’t knowingly be involved in such a thing. He’s kind of led a sheltered life,” Crowley replied, trying to not laugh at the idea of Aziraphale the spy. “Unfortunately he’s gullible enough to buy into that line they sold him.”

“Ok, Crowley. The case is yours. I trust you’ll have it wrapped up in no time.”

The demon exited with a nod. “I will.”


	3. Don't Be Stupid

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley makes a last-ditch effort to convince Aziraphale to not meet with the spies at the church.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter happens right after the church gets destroyed and that's where things will heat up between these two. Promise! I know . . . it's been a slow burn.

“Helllllllo, Aziraphale. It’s been a while since we’ve had lunch together. What do you think of heading to the Ritz?”

It was two days later and Crowley decided to make a visit to the angel to try to convince him that doing business with Nazis in disguise was a very bad idea. It would be nice if he didn’t have to save Aziraphale’s naïve arse again.

“Good morning, Crowley. It has been a while and we haven’t done anything because if you haven’t noticed, there’s a war going on and eating at restaurants right now just doesn’t seem right.”

“Ah, but that’s never stopped us before.” Crowley fell onto the couch behind the till, much to Aziraphale’s annoyance. “We ate crepes during the Reign of Terror.”

“Yes, I was stupid back then about my cravings and you did a great job of announcing to a whole lot of people that you were, umm, shall we say not normal-looking?” He disappeared into other parts of the bookshop, returning with a large box of clothing. 

“I’m quite normal-looking for what I am. Actually I’m better than normal-looking if you’ve seen other demons. Beelzebub’s covered in boils and Hastur runs around with a giant frog on his head. You should see him try to cover it with a wig. What’s all that?” He gestured to the box.

“There are people still being smuggled out of Germany. I’ve been gathering clothes to give to the local charities for them if they end up here. Every little bit helps, you know.” He made for his desk, rummaging through several drawers. “Now, where is that ball of twine I had? I assume you’re still up to minor acts of mischief even though you’ve thoroughly given me your opinion on Nazis. With any luck, your mischief making is giving them fits.”

”Actually, I’m working domestically for British Intelligence.” Crowley gave him a bright smile as he removed his fedora and threw it next to him on the couch.

Aziraphale glanced up from his search, a blank look on his face. “Sometimes your jokes are extremely inappropriate.”

“Fine, don’t believe me.” Crowley felt a bit of amusement at his ruse as he plucked idly at the antique throw covering the old couch. “Modern” was not a word in Aziraphale’s vocabulary. Everything in this shop was old. “Since most shops aren’t seeing much business these days, I bet you don’t have many knocking down your doors to buy books. It must be a relief.”

“Actually it is,” Aziraphale replied absent-mindedly as he pulled an odd collection of items out of his desk in his quest for that ball of twine. He jumped in surprise as a heavy roll of cellophane tape landed in front of him on his desk top with a thump.

“It would be nice if you’d pull your head out of the 1860s once in a while, Aziraphale. There is now this wonderful stuff called ‘tape’. You can use it to seal boxes closed.”

“Crowley, I swear…”

“I’d love to hear that.”

Aziraphale was starting to get flustered. He could tell by the way the angel had trouble getting the tape off the roll and on to the box top. Crowley decided to dial his friendly twitting of his friend back. He needed him in a mood where he’d listen to him, not start a fight because he was irritated. 

“I’ve seen this young woman coming in and out of here a lot. I talked to her once,” Crowley said, trying to change the subject. “She seemed nice. What’s she doing coming into an old bookshop like yours?”

“She’s looking for some rare first editions for her father,” replied Aziraphale, finally getting the box taped shut, albeit rather inexpertly. It was a mess of strips across the top that made Crowley want to laugh. “For his birthday.”

“Sure. Isn’t it hard to find any kind of books in this environment? Germany’s at war with half of Europe and has invaded the other half. Shipping books across countries can’t be a priority.”

“Very, which is why I have to keep in contact with her.”

This was going nowhere. “If that’s what you want to do. I don’t see the point because you’re not going to find anything during a war. Not like you want to sell books anyway. This place is just storage for your insanely large collection.”

“Crowley, please. Why the sudden interest in my customers, anyway? It’s not like you’ve cared before.”

“Because this whole stupid continent is in the middle of a conflict and she’s not remotely like any of your usual customers. That would ring alarm bells for me.”

“Don’t worry about it, ok?” Aziraphale all but snapped before making a change of subjects himself. He was irritated by Crowley’s overprotectiveness. “Would you like some tea? I’m afraid it’s a bit early for wine.”

“Sure. Why not?” Crowley leaned back with his arms crossed as if in a sulk. How could Aziraphale be so very stupid for an intelligent being?

The angel headed to his kitchenette. Crowley could hear mugs clinking as he put things together. “I don’t have any milk. We’re going to have to make do with just sugar.”

“Miracle some up.”

Aziraphale’s shocked face appeared around the corner. “But that would be cheating. Think of all those out there who can’t get things because of the rationing.”

“I am. There’ll be more milk for them when some’s available because we’re not taking it.”

“That’s not how it works.” Aziraphale came out with a tea tray complete with cups of steaming tea. Someone wasn’t above miracling the water hot.

Crowley wished up milk for his. “What kind of books are you looking for?”

“That’s not your business.” Aziraphale gave him a disapproving look over the milk. “Why are you so concerned?”

“Because, angel, wars are dangerous times. I don’t want to see you get hurt.”

“I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself,” snapped Aziraphale.

Crowley truly hoped he was. 


	4. Boom!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The church explodes,the books are saved, Crowley gives Aziraphale a lift back to the bookshop and things occur . . .

Aziraphale stood there shocked, mouth slightly open as he watched Crowley yank the bag of books free, hand them to him, then pick his way through the rubble back to the Bentley, which sat unharmed amongst the rubble surrounding it.

“Lift home?” Crowley asked as he wished the street in front of the Bentley clear.

Overcome with emotion, Aziraphale clutched the bag against his chest. “Uhh, sure.”

He climbed his way out of the rubble, heart beating like hadn’t happened in a long time. One minute he was hearing the distinct whistle of bombs, then next he was shielding them both from harm while the church crumbled around them with a deafening roar.

He got in the Bentley and nodded thanks at Crowley, unable to make his voice work now. It had been a strange night from being double-crossed, to having his skin saved by the demon he sometimes doubted.

He rescued the books. Crowley, who didn’t love literature as Aziraphale did, was the one to protect books from harm. He always thought Crowley formed a friendship with him out of convenience. Aziraphale oftentimes treated it like one. Crowley was a demon, after all. 

Would a mere acquaintance save your books?

“I didn’t know you cared,” Aziraphale said cautiously. “To you they’re just books.”

“I don’t care,” Crowley replied. “But you do. I owed you, anyway. You were doing the miracle to keep us from getting discorporated. That would have been embarrassing to put on the paperwork – _died in a church during a bombing of my own devising_.”

“Oh.” Aziraphale wasn’t sure what to say. He didn’t believe Crowley for a moment. It wasn’t just that he “owed him one.” Aziraphale had to ask for favours to be returned.

This wasn’t the casual acquaintance Aziraphale treated it as. Crowley had saved him from being discorporated on two occasions now, but after Paris he thought Crowley didn’t want to be lonely while Aziraphale waited around in Heaven for a new body. The demon _was_ a social creature. 

He was only fooling himself. Crowley was truly invested in their friendship and he did care very deeply for Aziraphale. How deeply Aziraphale wasn’t sure. All he knew was that he had been in denial all these millennia. This could change everything. He sat here in this car with this demon, sure he had fallen in love with him because of one demonic miracle. 

“You ok?” Crowley asked. “You’re acting weird.”

“I acted really stupid, didn’t I?”

“Yes, you did. Good thing I knew what was going on.”

“You really _are_ working for British Intelligence?”

“Yep.”

“Do I want to know what you’ve done?”

“I have my own ways of getting intelligence.”

Aziraphale smiled. 

“Don’t you _ever_ think I’m not serious about this friendship. You are the best friend I’ve ever had.”

Aziraphale’s heart leapt. _No, keep it under control._ “And… you’re mine.”

Crowley expertly threaded the Bentley through piles of rubble.

“Want to come in for a drink? I managed to get a hold of some good cognac. It might be good time to open one or two,” Aziraphale tentatively asked.

Crowley remembered what happened the last time they drank cognac together. What a mess. And Aziraphale appeared to be Having Feelings again. Who was he kidding? The line had been moving these last few centuries. What wasn’t appropriate years ago hardly seemed like a problem nowadays. They were inching closer to being more than friends.

“Sure, angel.”

Soon they were sitting in the backroom of the bookshop, enjoying each other’s company like many times before. Only this time it seemed a bit different in ways Aziraphale couldn’t suss out.

He stood up to reach for the bottle setting on the coffee table only to bush fingers with Crowley who was leaning in from the couch also looking for a refill. Quickly he removed his hand, not daring to look at Crowley.

Aziraphale found himself tracing his well-manicured fingers over the demon’s slim hand, Crowley not doing a thing about it. Before he knew it, he was seated on the couch next to him, his hands reaching up to caress Crowley’s fiery red hair, his arms sliding into an embrace that was readily returned. 

Crowley’s lips brushed his, silently asking if he could do more. Aziraphale opened his mouth wider in response, Crowley hungrily inserting his tongue. They stayed there locked in that embrace, tasting cognac on each other’s tongues. 

A hand wandered south, finding the bulge in Aziraphale’s trousers. Fingers idly brushed it as Crowley looked up for permission to do more. There wasn’t an objection. Reaching in to gently stoke his cock with his fingers, he ventured upwards to play with the tip, causing Aziraphale to moan in response. Clasping its warmth, he carefully moved his hand. The pleasure Aziraphale felt was enough to make his head spin. He thrust against Crowley’s hand, the two of them holding eye contact until Crowley laid him down on the couch, slithering between his legs for more. 

The hot wetness on Aziraphale’s erection was surprisingly pleasant, quickly escalating as Crowley began to lick then suck gently, the bobbing of his head adding to the erotic feelings racing up to Aziraphale’s head, which swam with the new sensations it was experiencing.

Aziraphale didn’t know sex came with a mental response. He suddenly felt he’d been missing out these thousands of years.

“Do more?”

Crowley pulled off. “You sure?”

“Yes.”

Vanishing away all their clothing, Crowley climbed on top of him, carefully lowering himself on to Aziraphale until the angel was inside of him, receiving a sob of pleasure. Slowly he moved, showing, encouraging Aziraphale to do the same, hoping that this first time wasn’t too awkward here on this ancient couch. But they found their rhythm, Crowley caressing Aziraphale’s chest while Aziraphale clung to Crowley’s hips. 

Kisses. Caresses. Movement. Ecstasy. Then they finished, the love passing between them. Aziraphale pulled Crowley down next to him for cuddles. He miracled up a blanket for them, contented.


	5. What Do You Mean You're a Demon?  (Bonus Chapter)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Demonic intervention?” asked Mr. Harmony. _
> 
> _“You really want to waste your escape time talking about this? Yes, demonic intervention. What do you take me for?” Crowley’s little hopping dance routine continued._
> 
> _“An idiot?” replied Mr. Harmony._
> 
> _“An idiot of a demon sometimes,” muttered Aziraphale, ears straining to hear the distinct whistling of falling bombs._
> 
> What if Crowley did reveal he was a demon in the church that fateful night during the Blitz?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this on a whim and didn't like it, but I'll post it here as bonus content. It's rough because I've done nothing more than a quick check of spelling and grammar.

Aziraphale was having issues processing all that was going on right now. Rose, better known as Greta Kleinschmidt, was pointing a gun at him, Crowley was dancing around in pain on consecrated ground and they had just had a conversation where the two other men in the church not only knew of him, but it was revealed he had chosen “Anthony” as a human first name. With “just a J” as a middle initial. Crowley did so like his flair.

Aziraphale wasn’t sure about “Anthony,” but he assured Crowley he’d get used to it. It seemed important to the demon that he liked the name. He turned back to the conversation at hand.

“…bombs tonight will fall on the East End,” Mr. Glozier was saying smugly.

“It would take a last-minute demonic intervention to throw them off course, yes. You’re all wasting your valuable running-away time,” Crowley replied, hopping from foot to foot. “But if, in thirty seconds, a bomb does land here, it would take a real miracle for my friend and I to survive it.” He looked pointedly at Aziraphale. Hint hint, angel.

“A real miracle?” said Aziraphale, finally catching up.

“Demonic intervention?” asked Mr. Harmony. 

“You really want to waste your escape time talking about this? Yes, demonic intervention. What do you take me for?” Crowley’s little hopping dance routine continued.

“An idiot?” replied Mr. Harmony.

“An idiot of a demon sometimes,” muttered Aziraphale, ears straining to hear the distinct whistling of falling bombs.

“A real demon?” Greta looked a bit alarmed, despite the gun she still had pointed at Aziraphale.

“Do you really want to discuss this _now_?” asked Crowley incredulously. “Fine let’s discuss this. Have that miracle handy, Aziraphale.”

With a wave of his hand, time stopped. The three Nazis stared at the candles, which had stopped flickering. 

Crowley hopped up on a pew, sitting balanced on the back of it, his feet resting on the seat. “Much better. So, what do you half-wits want to know?”

“Why are the candle flames still?” asked a dumbfounded Mr. Glozier.

“Crowley do you think this is a good idea?” hissed Aziraphale crossly. “If Hell finds out you told these three you’re a demon, they’ll punish you.”

“Don’t worry, angel. I’ve arranged it so they aren’t going to remember anything that happens while time’s stopped.”

“Wait a moment… you _are _a demon?” asked Mr. Harmony.

“And he’s an _angel_?” added Greta.

“Yep," said Crowley, removing his sunglasses for a brief moment. The three of them recoiled. Crowley grinned. “Don’t find eyes like this in humans, do you?”

“You’re not human,” said Mr. Harmony weakly. 

“No, not really.”

Greta just gave a glazed look to a shell-shocked Mr. Glozier. Aziraphale hid his face in his hands. He couldn’t believe this was happening.

“Why are you worried about the fate of an angel?” asked Mr. Glozier after a moment. 

“Well, sometimes you make friends with your rival. I would rather not see him discorporated. Do you know how much paperwork is involved when you lose a body? Of course not. You lot only get to go around once.”

“No, this is not happening. You’re just trying to pull one over on us. Some elaborate ruse to keep us from killing you both.” Mr. Harmony’s limited human brain could not handle the truth.

“Wings?” Crowley asked Aziraphale.

“Fine, wings,” said an exasperated Aziraphale. “But _only_ because they won’t remember this.”

Crowley stood up on the pew and soon, two pairs of wings in white and black unfurled into the space available. Greta stumbled backwards, grabbing Mr. Glozier’s arm for support. 

“Wings,” muttered one of the men. “They have wings.”

“Yes, wings.” Crowley’s beat hesitantly a few times, the best he could do with row of pews in the way. His wingspan was impressive, to say the least. Not that Aziraphale’s was any less extraordinary.

“Why are we doing this?” asked the angel as he folded his wings neatly behind him, the tips of his primaries brushing the stone floor of the church.

“They wanted to know; I have the time.”

“Crowley, really…”

“I can still shoot you!” cried Greta, apparently not dealing with this well at all.

Crowley fixed her with a stare. “No bullet will come out of that gun until I start time again and by then we’ll have moved out of the way. But you’re welcome to try.”

She lowered it a moment in doubt.

“Angels and demons working together. That is not possible,” stated Mr. Harmony, obviously lost in his own little world which was an uncomfortable place full of doubt right now.

“Yes, I find it hard to believe myself, but here we are,” murmured Aziraphale. Crowley didn’t appear to hear him, either that or he was ignoring him. It was hard to tell sometimes. “I think you’ve messed with them enough, my dear fellow.”

“I don’t know. I’m having fun watching their little human brains try to keep up with all this,” grinned Crowley. He winched his wings back in so he could sit down again instead of trying to balance on the slanted seat while negotiating the extra heaviness of them.

Aziraphale followed suit, seeing no reason to keep his out any longer, especially since he felt kind of awkward being the only person in the room with a large pair of wings.

“Can we get on with this? I really don’t want to be here all night,” groused the angel. “I might just make that miracle small enough to only save one of us.”

“Doubtful. You like me.”

“Are you sure about that?”

“So, you two are just going to stand there bickering?” demanded Mr. Harmony. 

“Apparently we are,” replied Crowley. “But I don’t see why you’re complaining. You’re the one literally living on borrowed time. Ready then?” He slid off the pew back on to the floor.

Aziraphale nodded. “Let’s get on with it.”

Crowley snapped his fingers, the bomb fell and only two beings were left standing in the ensuing rubble.

**Author's Note:**

> [My Tumblr](https://theangelsflashbastard.tumblr.com/) if you're interested.


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